The lashing smell of rotting wood whipped up in the air as the final layer of fog faded.
A desolate harbor, nestled on the ghostly shore where thick ropes of mist strangled weathered dock posts like murky serpents.
Splash!
The gentle lap of dark water against timbers whispered in the stillness. I matched the scythe bearer's silent footsteps, our boots creating hollow echoes against salt-worn planks. Stripped bollards rose from the warped planks like ancient tombstones, their mooring lines rotting away to whispers of hemp and lingering memories. A few boats remained drunk in their slips, the decks riddled with holes and covered in cobwebs. On their hulls hung green beards of algae and clusters of barnacles.
The Void was infested with structures that seemed to possess the essence of life, though deathly in its own treacherous fashion. But this? This was different.
Empty warehouses slouched toward the black water like mourners at a funeral. Their shattered windows wept tears of glass shards. The harbor must have once bloomed with life. However, it raked in death long ago. Each rotting beam and rusted nail marked the cruel passage of time.
The man's abrupt halt sent ripples through his dark cloak. Wind twirled across the water, carrying the taste of winter and despair. Without turning to face me, he dug into his pocket.
Another vial? He's kidding me.
The vial flew through the air without warning. Pure instinct drove my hand up, fingers closing around the cool surface. Tiny storms raged within, each golden spark a miniature bolt of imprisoned chaos. The glass thrummed against my palm.
"You know the drill," he said.
"Another one? Come on!"
He sighed, holding a similar vial curled within his fingers with stern look printed on his face.
"It's different. It'll take days without Lightning Nectar."
With a twist, he removed the cork and drank from his own vial.
The demonstration did sooth my doubts. I imitated him and swallowed the potion.
Hmm... sweet! The yellow liquid was sugary—a bit too sugary. No wonder he called it nectar!
My muscles tightened, and my heart raced at an unimaginable speed. Each breath that gushed in was cooler than the air of the harbor but fueled with life itself. Time seemed to only crawl, as if it nearly stopped and each second extended to minutes. Even the fog seemed to move in slow motion, each droplet distinct and perfect.
"Let's move," he said. One moment he was right beside, the other he darted into the distance, reducing to a mere dot. I pursued his path without a second thought.
The ghost town blurred around us, yet somehow I saw everything. A battered storefront was still proudly displaying prices for goods long since turned to dust. A child's doll forgotten in a doorway, its face haunted with a permanent smile and bead eyes reflecting nothing but despair. Each cracked window and collapsed doorway told stories of escape, of panic, of final moments frozen in time like helpless insects in amber.
The wind carried ghostly echoes—merchants haggling over prices, sailors singing bawdy songs, children laughing as they chased each other through streets that still remembered the sound of life. But the streets were deserted. Not even a single rat in sight.
We burst from the dead port's embrace onto endless plains of snow. Gray stretched to the horizon like the blank canvas, waiting for someone to paint new stories across its surface. The leaden skies pressed down, heavy with unspent snow. Distant mountains blurred through the haze like sleeping titans. Our passage left trails in the powder that vanished almost instantly, as if the world itself was erasing evidence of our existence.
The potion sang in my blood. Miles melted away beneath our feet, each step covering ground in a blink. Gradually, civilization began to emerge from the wasteland—first as hints and whispers, then as living proof. A maintained road here, cleared land there. Then, through the snow, I caught my first proper glimpse of a town.
It tainted the barren landscape like a Victorian settlement. Hundreds of chimneys belched smoke, their columns twisting together to form a canopy of ash that merged seamlessly with the winter sky. Gas lamps danced to life, their warm glow a jarring contrast to the bitter cold that had been our only companion across the plains. The architecture was a remarkable contrast to the Void—no tall spires or towers. The absence of watchful gargoyles, stone dragons, and sinister skulls made me feel a bit comfortable, as if I had ventured into a classic 19th-century novel. But it didn't feel like home.
I felt the nectar's grip beginning to loosen, my movements becoming more mundane, more human. My muscles slackened, and I felt the weight of my body as it latched onto me again. A burn in the throat followed in a second or so.
My companion slowed his inhuman pace too as we approached the outskirts. Without breaking his stride, he shed his traveling cloak and thrust it toward me.
"Put this on."
"Are you sure about this?"
"Just put it on already!", he said, stuffing the cloak in my hands.
As he removed it, revealing his dull, brown outfit. It resembled an old t-shirt, but the lower end was shredded and frayed.
The fabric shimmered, as if secrets were woven into its very threads. As it settled across my bare shoulders, unexpected warmth spread through my chest, and the garment shifted—almost breathing as it adjusted to my body.
The town assaulted my senses with a riot of contradiction. Wealthy merchants in black top hats and fine wool coats strode past beggars whose eyes held desperation and hunger as hostages. Steam-powered carriages rattled over ancient cobblestones, their brass fittings winking dully in the gaslight like tired eyes. Architecture warred with itself—elegant facades pressed against buildings.
Languages collided in the air as street vendors hawked their wares. The fragrance of herbs danced within the nests of coal smoke and unwashed bodies, creating an atmosphere thick enough to chew. But beneath the surface glamor, decay crept in at the edges. Layers of soot settled on ornate moldings like dead skin. Rust consumed ironwork that had once been the pride of craftsmen.
But something was truly unsettling. I couldn't shake off the staring eyes of the townsfolk, observing and even criticizing my appearance, let alone my movements. I felt like an alien, walking among them, despite being of the same race, probably. The cloak was a failed camouflage.
The man noticed—he noticed everything.
"Ignore them."
"Easy for you to say!" I rasped.
"Pretend they don't exist."
He didn't say another word as we strolled.
We quickened our pace as we delved deeper into the city. Grand buildings gave way to structures that had surrendered to decay generations ago. Streets narrowed, darkness pooling in corners like spilled ink. The crowds thinned until only our footsteps remained, echoing off walls that seemed to lean inward.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Almost there," he said with reassurance resonating in his tone.
"No, I mean, where exactly are we? What is the place?"
"It goes by many names. But you can call it the Eclipsed Sanctuary."
Curiosity knocked me harder, pushing questions to the stitched lips. In the end, I sided with silence.
As we left the town's heart behind us, the smell of decay grew stronger, but it was different from the harbor's honest rot. He led me to an unremarkable building – vacant window frames, crumbling bricks, and a facade designed to be forgotten. The only feature it shared with the structures in the town was the coat of dark soot and gray snow settled on its surface.
We marched through the entrance of the building—ruins, to be more precise. A few feet in and a jagged cavity that tore across the floor piqued my interest. I leaned in, discovering a flight of stairs led into the pitch-black unknown beneath.
The air grew colder as we descended, the sounds of the city fading until even the memory of them seemed doubtful. The stairs ended at a passage. When we took our first step, green flames ignited.
Skulls!
They assembled the corridor's walls instead of brick or stones. The source of the flare were unusually larger skulls that jutted from the rest, the cold blaze escaping from their eye sockets. The walls stretched out as much space as possible underneath the arched ceiling.
The man led me to what appeared to be a solid wall, lined with bones—human bones maybe—but I had seen enough to know that appearance and reality were, at best, distant cousins.
He ran his fingers across the surface until he heard a click. Pressing his palm on the spot sent a wave that rippled across the dry, skeletal surface, and a hole ripped through it.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face, there and gone in a flash.
"We're here," he said.